by D. Fischer
Shifting my weight, I face the thundering orc stomping in my direction. His thick body rocks on his boney, single-horned steed - the creature which resembles a unicorn of the dead. The vibrations travel through the sand, and I can feel each hoofbeat rumble up my thick legs.
Tanya and Jane squeal.
My darkness snickers with anticipation.
I shiver.
He was built for this. Death and destruction are what the orc craves, and just as its rider, the skeletal unicorn holds no hesitation or fear. A typical horse may shy from all the noise - from the obvious death thick in the air. Instead, its strides are determined. It makes me wonder if it knows what it’s headed toward, if it’s aware of the bigger threat, or if it’s designed only for killing.
As it nears, my talons quickly lift and lower in heavy stomps. Sucking in a deep breath, I feel heat blossom in my chest, an opening rosebud in the morning’s ray of sun. It curls tight then enlarges, swirling and forcing my ribs to expand. The pressure becomes painful, begging immediate release.
Fire sizzles along my esophagus as it travels up. The heat licks my tongue and exits my mouth, a thick stream of flames targeting the orc and his steed of bones.
The unicorn skids to a halt. Sand flies in every direction, and the billow of fire engulfs the creature. It screams its bereavement, rearing and flailing its front hooves before falling over, dislodging the orc. The shriek is loud, high-pitched, and otherworldly.
Rolling as best it can, it tries to escape to no avail as my flames continue to consume. Victory sings through my veins and into the depths of my soul.
The orc scoots his rump backward across the sand, attempting to get away from the scorching heat and impending death. But he's a moment too late. The minimal cloth covering his lower half catches on the tip of a flame.
Hungry orange fire rapidly spreads, and he wails, deep and rumbling, when his body is devoured. It licks up from leathery legs to torso. Puffs of black smoke rise and mingle with dust the two creatures create in their desperation.
The orc’s massive arms swing like trees in a strong wind, slow and weighted, and I suck in another breath, unleashing the fire once more. It’s a straight shot. Streams of scorching flames reach the burning creatures, and the orc’s shrieks expire in unison with the unicorn’s. Their blackened limbs fall limp to the sands, and pieces of bone break away from the charred bodies, tumbling a few feet.
The crowd erupts once more, a fuel to my new dark desires of revenge. The smell of burning leather reaches my nostrils, filling me with a sense of overwhelming cravings for more death and taking chunks of my humanity with it.
I need more.
My gaze sweeps the battle, searching for the next target. The red haze deepens to a darker hue, and my rigid muscles relax into the mental transition.
The loose sand makes it easy to quickly turn, and I swiftly do so. I select the next target – the next challenge to my immediate revenge. This is all too easy, the battle on fast forward, and I haven’t had enough bloodshed.
There will never be enough.
I whip my tail as I face the fee in their low stone gallery, careful to avoid the two women under my belly. A rumble vibrates in my chest when our eyes don’t lock, prepared to roar to gain their attention. I want to see the fear on their faces, watch them tremble on their thrones of superiority while they question all they’ve done to receive my wrath.
But instead, their backs are to me, their attention on a red-headed woman alight with blue lightning. She hovers a few feet from the stone platform, radiating a graceful and elegant power. I can taste it. It’s thick, bright, and charged like crisp air during a snowstorm, the kind that steals the air from lungs.
Concern and confusion envelope me in a blanket of curiosity, worried she’s a bigger threat than my original targets. But as I take a closer glimpse, adjusting my vision to a more detailed perception, it quickly flees. The fee are cautiously backing away, and even Corbin’s posture hunches with uncertainty. Her threats are for them alone.
This is her unleashing of revenge, I realize. This is the woman Mrs. Tiller, my shade escort into the Death Realm, spoke of.
Her arms are held out to her sides, and her red hair waves in a wind which does not blow. Lightning plays across her pale skin and the open space surrounding her. And though the fee back away cautiously, one man does not. A demon, I quickly note. What kind of creature doesn’t fear what she threatens?
Unless he’s the bigger threat.
Stretching my neck, I roar, menacing, in their direction, but he’s too consumed in her display of impossible power to notice my challenge.
Distracted by another object, my eyes dart to an arrow sailing through the air. It shoots a direct path to the galley and embeds in Corbin’s upper arm. His head tilts back, and his balance sways as he screams to the foggy sky.
A smirk pulls at my dragon lips. He deserves hundreds more of those arrows until he’s mistaken for a porcupine. If I get my way, he’ll have more than that small misfortune for leaving his wife in the hands of vengeful humans and a dangling noose. Myla didn’t deserve that fate, and he has much to pay for because of it.
Rustling my wings against my sides, I arch my neck and turn my head in search of where the arrow came from.
Down by the tunnel we had entered, Tember stands like a Greek god. Ire is in her grips, and an electric arrow is positioned on her index finger of the hand curled around the bow’s middle. Like me, she’s immediately distracted by the magical woman. She aims, but it drops slightly when she becomes transfixed with the disturbing anomaly, eyes wide.
Someone else stands beside her – a creature I’ve never seen. Not even in lessons at the Demi-Lune coven and pictures in the ancestral books passed down through the generations of women witches. He’s striking, powerful, formidable. A trained warrior from another realm.
Horns protrude from his skull, and his entire body is tattooed in stripes of black. Silky dark hair shines despite the lack of light. The glistening strands cascade to the small of his back, and he grips a bow and arrow as well though his is much grander than Tember’s Ire to meet the needs of his frame.
Swiveling his upper torso causes impressive muscles to ripple along his bare abdomen, and his eyes sharpen when he spots something. A female demon, with equally flowing white hair, jumps over the edge of the climbing seats and drops sure footed to the sands. She snarls at the warrior, intent on protecting her master.
Tember’s friend takes first aim, eyes sharp and focused, much like the tip of his waiting weapon. The speed in which he releases is evidence to the skill his body speaks. But, just the same, the shock is still there even as I watch him kill the demon and three more after in a matter of seconds.
And then he aims at me.
I hear the whistle of his sailing arrow, and it thuds into a demon just below my chest. The blow knocks the demon into my leg. This strange new ally meets my gaze, and he curtly nods. I snort my gratitude, and puffs of smoke snake from my nostrils. Not that I needed his help. My scales are armor. I doubt the demon would have been able to penetrate them, whatever his choice of attack. But he could have harmed Jane and Tanya.
On my right, a flicker of pale white pulls my focus once more. A vampire. At full speed, he barrels toward Tanya and Jane, leaving a trail of rising dust and knocking even his companions out of the way for his chance of twisted glory.
He’s a brave soul, I think to myself as Tanya and Jane scream my name. The voice inside my head is deep and raspy like the brush of fierce winds against old pane windows. And when he’s close enough, I strike. My neck stretches, snapping forward, a whip. My razor teeth slice into his rotting flesh, and I pick him from the ground, a plucked weed.
I bite, hard, blood gushing, and throw his body to the stone wall before he turns to ash in my mouth.
CHAPTER TWO
AIDEN VANDER
DEATH REALM
Chaos unfolds on the field of sick and twisted games. Blood sprays, mixing with t
he disturbance of sand. The sound of the dragon and the victims she consumes are deafening.
Kheelan’s face is scrunched, a shadow of scarlet, and his black eyes are wide and wild. He shouts at Eliza though I can’t hear what he says past the battle’s thunder.
Eliza’s eyes are glowing a blinding shade of blue. The scent of freshly-charged air with a hint of iron wafts from her body. Lively currents strike along her skin as though her pale flesh is a brewing storm.
I pull at my thumb. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know how to help her, not when I have no idea what’s going on with this new power she possesses. Instead, I stand like an idiot.
Looking to Corbin, I search for answers across the shocked face of the fee. Was it him who had screamed a moment ago?
He growls, his eyes as black as the souls of the demons he creates. My gaze drifts to the stick protruding from his arm and his fingers which are firmly curled around the middle of it. Biting his top lip, he rips the arrow out in one swift yank and tosses it.
Turning swiftly, he views the battle happening below before the arrow can clank against the stone platform. I’m sure he’s searching for the culprit of the deliberate attack. It’s what I would do. The arrow rolls across on the uneven platform.
Demons and vampires jump from their stadium seats, swarming the arena to join the fight. The black dragon roars, sharp teeth dripping with saliva and dark liquid. Bodies burn around the beast, resembling the tiki torches that had lined my foster home’s back patio. My mother and Eliza’s shuffle under the belly of the dragon, desperate for protection.
Arrows arch above the battle before descending into the chests of demons and vampires. Two new creatures had joined the slaves, I note, watching as they work as a team. They pick off the enemy, one by one, formidably so.
Corbin doesn’t turn back to me, doesn’t check to see if I’m still here or bother to seek my counsel. Instead, his back stiffens with telling concerns, his shoulders bunched. This didn’t go the way he’d planned. He knows he’s outnumbered, outwitted, and caught mid-manipulation. Without action or retaliation, he shimmers away, leaving his demons, and me, to fend for ourselves.
“Coward,” I whisper, hoping he hears me from wherever he fled to. He’s a waste of breath, and these demons follow him blindly into whatever trap he lays.
I flick my gaze to Sureen, wondering what she’ll do next. Her long fingers grip the top rim of her throne’s backrest. Eyes darting from Eliza to the dragon, she snarls viciously, a cornered rabid animal.
Dark eyebrows smooth as her face falls, void of any emotion except shifty eyes observing the scaled beast and the fire sprouting from her mouth. I don’t need to follow her line of sight to know what she sees. The flames are scorching - I can feel it from here. Through all of the mayhem, the spraying blood splatting along my forearm, and the heat boiling my blood, my subconscious strives to gain the upper hand. The chaos of the situation scatters all my thoughts and what action I should take next.
Shaking my head, I feel a hiss of breath squeeze through my nostrils. I blink, and when my eyes reopen, Sureen is no longer there. She disappeared as quickly as Corbin had. The fee, all of those who were so desperate for death and power, have a fear. This fear happens to be wrapped in scales. The legend I was told had mentioned that only a dragon can take down Corbin, and I briefly wonder if this is the dragon.
More fire devours bodies - a wall of moving flames - while they scream their last breath of dusty air. A demon closest to the platform turns, eyes visible through the orange-hued sand dust, and he sweeps the platform, searching for Corbin. I can see the hope leave those soulless black orbs before he drops to the ground, dead, with an arrow poking between his knobby shoulder blades.
I stare at it, unable to move my eyes from the demon’s still form.
A sliver of sympathy works its way through me, an unusual pang to my chest. I lift my hand and clutch my sternum with surprise. These are my people, my kindred, though I despise them and their weaknesses. The fee’s creations die while they run to hide. They didn’t even stick around for the outcome. Where is the devotion? Where is the compassion?
Blue hues to my side brighten the immediate atmosphere, and I turn.
Kheelan’s arms light with the same bolts of electricity Eliza has, snapping me from my query and the scene below. Eliza’s body floats, magnificent and powerful, and my pinched and confused face falls in a rush of something I thought I’d never feel again.
A flood gate. That’s what this feels like. A dam bursting with frigid waters, overcoming everything in its path. Beginning in my heart, it rushes through my veins to each limb, each organ. I stagger against the intensity and the accompanying pain and lower my hands to grip my stomach where it settles.
I gasp and am driven to one knee. I shake with the intensity, each muscle rippling in a separate wave. Sweat beads above my brow. My vision blurs and refocuses. All the oxygen rushes from my lungs as a roar bellows from my mouth, a cry to the extreme assault of returning emotions. I drop the other knee, kneeling before the woman with palpable power. I suck in another breath, tasting the air in a different way as it crosses my tongue, and then I fall to all fours.
Huffing and puffing, I angle my head and stare at Eliza from under my dark lashes. The flood settles, a gentle stream of flowing, colorful emotions.
Love. Hope. Water to a dying man.
Eliza’s eyes snap impossibly wider, and her mouth opens in a scream with no sound. Bolts of electricity hit the stone like a second voice to her rage, a threat. Her gaze jerks to Kheelan’s immobile frame, a whip of fury pinned to the cruel man.
I’ve never seen Eliza like this. I never knew Eliza was capable of these violent thoughts and actions. I can practically see them behind her eyes, speaking to me on a level I understand. Ferocity has replaced her compassion, and it makes me wonder all that she’s endured in the hands of Kheelan to make her feel this way.
“You have no choice,” she begins, her voice like a recording of Kheelan’s. “You have no say. This is no longer your life.”
Kheelan visibly pales and takes a step back, his words are thrown back at him.
She continues, her voice returning to her own. “Be still, King of the Dead. You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”
Goosebumps riddle my skin, her threat tangible and thrilling. I can taste it. I bask in it. I feed from it.
Red hair flows like ribbons down her back as she tilts her head toward the sky. Her spine bows, puffing her chest. A stream of blue electricity departs from the center of her sternum and strikes Kheelan’s abdomen. The force sends him into the air and over the edge of the platform, his greasy hair whipping in the wind of gravity.
My lips part, a wheezing breath hushed between my loose lips.
Gathering myself to my feet, prepared to finish him off, I rush to the edge and watch Kheelan disappear, his body vanishing before he hits the sand.
I swivel back to Eliza, noting her feet already planted on the stone. The crackling lightning fizzles along her skin until it’s absorbed back into her body. Blue veins are left behind, shining under her flesh. Her legs wobble, and for a brief moment, her eyes catch mine.
My breath hitches.
So many emotions are held within those swirling blues, so many questions on the tip of her tongue. I open my mouth, ready to declare these new-found feelings, to tell her what she’s done for me if she doesn’t know already.
She saved me from myself. It was she who returned the emotions. Who else would be responsible if not the woman I love?
As I inhale to speak, cold air tickles my tongue, but I’m halted mid-word. Her eyes roll, and her knees buckle beneath her. I swiftly jump forward, and my arms catch her limp body just before she almost flattens against the platform.
Hoisting her up higher in my arms, I nestle her head against my chest and stare into her eyes. Sluggishly, she searches mine while her hair tickles my arm.
“Aiden,” she hums, eyelashes fluttering with ex
haustion. And then she faints, her head rolling to the side.
“I’m right here,” I mumble, deep-toned. I marvel at the smoothness of her skin, shimmering veins, and flawless complexion. So fragile in a body warped with too much power.
A surge of protective instincts replaces my need to declare what I am and what I feel. She’s mine, and now that I’m back, I’ll never let her go.
Gathering her higher in my arms, I glance once more at the chaotic scene below as her head falls against my chest. A pang of sympathy, the need to help even the odds, to save my mother and Eliza’s, overcomes me.
I could. I could help those who fight for justice. Or, I could hide Eliza and keep her safe.
The image of her vulnerable state bargains a plan into my thoughts, but the voice isn’t my own. It drowns the cries of battle below in its few words of wisdom to my jumbled mind.
Seek the one you trust most, a male voice says.
I grit my teeth, weighing the hard path of the greater good against my own selfish desires. I know what I have to do - what I should do – but neither my gut feeling, nor the voice, is easy to ignore.
Eliza is my responsibility, and I’ll be damned if I ignore my instincts again.
I shimmer for the first time in my third life, my body fading from this realm to the next. Selfishly taking an unconscious Eliza with me, I seek the first creature I feel l can trust.
KATRIANE DUPONT
DEATH REALM
My energy is depleting, and I’m struggling to think straight. Each muscle under my black scales screams, begging for relief, for a millisecond to pause and unbunch them. The darkness ignores the discomfort because relief would be my end – all of our ends. It’s this thought I take some comfort in - knowing it will prevail where I cannot.
Our enemies remain merciless, allies turning on allies just for a taste of victory. My eyes flick to the left. Dyson rips apart vampires and demons as they come, his growls menacing. He’s coated in an odd black substance, and for a moment, I worry it’s his own blood. But the concern is fleeting when goop sprays from a gash in a vampire’s neck and lathers his fur with another layer. The wolf’s teeth grip the black-veined throat, and he snarls, shaking his head and shredding the thin skin.